


Memories of Flames

by Dragoniped



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Pre-Apocalypse, kid!Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 17:40:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4445624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoniped/pseuds/Dragoniped
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Memories of the fire were scorched into Daryl’s mind, refusing to be forgotten."</p><p>An 8-year-old Daryl tries to come to terms with what he has lost and what he should do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories of Flames

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this near the end of last year, as such I can't really remember why I did it or what it was based on. The last paragraph was written shortly before uploading because this was incomplete.

It was horrifying. How could something that had meant so much to him, that had been his everything, be reduced to nothing by such a pathetic accident and unbelievable ignorance? How could she have been so, so stupid? Daryl found himself constantly unsure as to whether he should hate her or the building. It was, after all, just as much the buildings fault that it had set on fire as it was his mother's that she had let it (or atleast that’s what his eight year old mind reasoned).

Memories from before the fire were now hidden away by the plague-like black that had infected the remains of the building all the way down to it’s skeleton. Black walls (or what remained of them) tried and failed to make a room that even its inhabitants could remember; piles of black ash crowded every corner like a group of small, scared animals; water ‘plipped’ gently against charred black floorboards as though to mock the very idea of the building once having a roof; black wood stuck out at dangerous angles around the room; and the black heart of the boy, who refused to leave, remained the only thing alive.

Memories of the fire, however, were scorched into Daryl’s mind, refusing to be forgotten. Although it had been a week now, since the tragedy, the memories remained as vivid as when it had happened:

_Scorching heat, unlike anything he had ever felt before and likely ever will, assaulted his senses and made him want to avert his eyes when accompanied by the blinding light of the fire; he couldn’t look away. Daryl was a moth to a flame, entranced, mesmerised and with one thing on his mind: he had to get closer! The pungent odor, that was unavoidable from his meager distance, had him gagging, not the fear, never the fear, it was the smell._

_He had tried to run, not away - towards, straight into the fire, into his house. He had things in there, things he couldn’t lose, a letter from a friend - his first ever; the maths test he had passed - with help of course; all of Merle’s things - if they were gone Merle would kill him when he came back, if he came back; and his mum - his mum was still in there, burning alive, or even already dead, he had no way of knowing._

Now, all that remained was him, a preteen with a vicious temper but a delicate heart, who refused to move from this house - if it could still be called that. If he got hungry, he would make the shortest possible trip for something to eat; if he got hot, he would sprawl on the floor and try not to breathe in the ash; and if it rained, the water would console him - their own tears mixing with his on the ash blackened boards.

Fin.  


**Author's Note:**

> The style seems weird to me because I think I was trying something different... Anyway, hope you enjoyed :з 
> 
> Please review (especially if you have any idea what this was based on or where the idea came from), reviews help me write \\(-.-)/


End file.
